Hollywood Gays (14 page)

After
Conversations
appeared, the omitted Hudson quotes about Liberace were picked up by the
Washington Post
and then by hundreds of newspapers around the world. Even though the brief affair had occurred some three and a half decades before, several papers tried to establish a cautionary link between the two eventual AIDS victims’ mutual intimacy. The
National Enquirer
placed the story on its cover—a dubious honor—and I appeared on
Larry King, Live
, the topic being “the late, flamboyant, and controversial Liberace” and the celebrity closet.

I’d voiced my surprise at Rock and Lee’s long-ago affair to a closeted Hollywood publicist, who replied, “Rock was promiscuous, but he did have a type—handsome younger hunks. That is, once he himself was older. Preferably blond ones. However in earlier years, he was less picky. He was something of a groupie. He’d go to bed with big names, or try to. Especially when he first arrived in Hollywood and was chasing after his idols Jon Hall and Errol Flynn.” Though more of a chunk than a hunk, Liberace was by then a Name, and whichever way they met—Rock never explained, and grew irritable when I later inquired—his sexual interest in Hudson probably flattered the younger, less-known, and horny actor.

Liberace himself became the object of affection of certain youths. Some younger gays looked up to him as a role model, a man who combined his burgeoning and undeniable flamboyance with public success, joie de vivre, and that Liberacian pastime known as crying—or laughing—all the way to the bank.

“Rick Shaw” is a “semi-closeted” Chinese-American. “I’m divorced and fully
out
at work and to friends, but my kids don’t know....” A former singer and actor, he was lovers with Paul Lynde and Rock Hudson and a would-be groupie of Liberace. But he never got close to his favorite, remembering, “San Francisco, 1952, was real memorable for me. I belonged to the Emporium Teen Board [of the Emporium department store], and the week before Christmas, my school choir sang carols in the store’s rotunda. Lee Meriwether (one of three actresses who played Catwoman on TV’s
Batman
) was working there too.

“Our carols were mostly ignored by the shoppers, who went their merry way. Then our soloist, a colored boy, stepped forward to sing. Gradually everyone stopped what they were doing and listened. That voice was clearly one in a million. It belonged to Johnny Mathis. My crush on him began when I heard him sing. I had an idea he might be gay, but in those days I couldn’t have predicted that he’d ever come out.” (Mathis came out in
Us
magazine in 1982, a newsworthy celebrity admission not picked up by the mainstream media—likewise Brando’s early ‘70s bisexual declaration in France.)

“The other thing about 1952 that was so memorable was my parents buying us a television set. I fell in love with the magic of TV, and I liked Liberace’s show best of all. I thought he was very appealing in a low-key way, and when he sang his theme song, ‘I’ll Be Seeing You,’ and winked, I would pretend he was singing it only to me, winking at
me
.

“When I came to L.A., I tried to find and meet Liberace, but I guess I was never at the right place at the right time. Then I heard that he preferred blonds anyway—like that Scott Thorson [the chauffeur cum companion who instigated the famous palimony suit]. That was disappointing, but I was still beholden to the man, because in my teens I’d had to take piano lessons, which was considered ‘sissy stuff’ then.

“But playing the piano was what Liberace did, for plenty of bucks and stardom. Thousands of guys taking piano in the ‘50s were nicknamed Liberace. It was meant as a crack, but many of us were proud of it. He was a star, to most people the only pianist they knew about....Later, when he denied being gay, that was a disappointment too, but let’s face it, those were the not-so-good-old days.” Or, nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.

Gay TV producer Carl David reminisced, “In the ‘60s, you could often see Liberace cruising the Akron store on Sunset Boulevard with his little doggie in hand, dressed all in white—Lee, I mean—trying to pick up Mexicans in the store’s parking lot. He wasn’t discreet, he was daring and rather outrageous about it. He’d stand in the lot and try and pick up young men parking their cars. Most didn’t recognize him!”

After I told an associate that Liberace had phoned in 1978 to decline an interview request, he huffed, “Of
course
he called you and was very polite.” The man had been an assistant to Lee in Las Vegas, when Barbra Streisand was the superstar pianist’s opening act. “Lee runs scared of the press and what they might say about him. He sued
Confidential
magazine and that English paper, but he can’t go around suing everybody. Besides, times have changed....He’s extremely publicity-conscious. He courts the press. The way Joan Crawford did, only he telephones, he doesn’t send little thank-you notes with a big JC on them.”

* * *

And he did it again. In late 1981 I re-requested an interview, on behalf of a Japanese women’s magazine. I heard nothing for weeks, until, 20 minutes before a dentist’s appointment, I got a phone call. I only answered because I thought it was a relative visiting San Francisco, who I would be seeing that evening in San Mateo.

It was Liberace, politely declining the request. He began by chummily referring to our “chat” of three years before, and inquiring into the Japanese market....

* * *

A: Would this be published in Japanese?

Q: Yes, it would.

A: How marvelous! (Pause.) But I’d never be able to
read
it.

Q: Neither would your American fans....

A: Except in Chinatown. I mean Little Tokyo!

Q: The interview could be syndicated internationally, to make it worth your time.

A: Oh,
no
. I’d prefer if it appeared only in Japan. (A conspiratorial pause.) You know, various American stars do commercials in Japan for
big
money that they’d never dream of doing for
American
TV.

Q: Have you done ads in Japan?

A: (Laughs.) Aren’t you the curious one! I’ve been
approached
several times....

Q: Remember the Audrey Hepburn article? She’s done wig commercials for Japanese TV.

A: I
know
. For a tremendous sum, I hear. I’d
love
to see them. She looks marvelous, I hear.

Q: One thing about Japan, they don’t tend to ask such personal questions. On the other hand, one can be franker in an interview for Japan, without it, um, coming back to haunt one. If you’re concerned.

A: I’d have to think about it. But I don’t know....I’m so busy lately. You know, Boze, I have too many candles burning at both ends, but it’s the
only
way I know how to live! I have so many interests and concerns, but I
relish
all the pressure.

Q: You should write a book about it.

A: Oh, I will. They always want a new book from me, and they’re always asking me to
please
be as candid as I like. But Boze,
some
autobiographies are candid—and
others
are just...
candied!
(Laughs.)

Q: That’s amusing.

A: (Sighs.) I don’t know. Nowadays, everyone just lets
everything
hang out. I always feel there should be a little mystery. Don’t you?

Q: Sometimes a little goes a long way.

A: Boze, you’re teasing me!

Q: You don’t give many interviews, do—

A: Call me
Lee
.

Q: ....

A: No, I don’t. My personal appearances are the very best sort of publicity.

Q: But not in-depth.

A: People have short attention spans. I found that out long ago. They get bored quickly, if you’re not doing something exciting.

Q: Or humorous, like Victor Borge.

A: Yes.

Q: You don’t do much TV, either.

A: No, and I’ll tell you why, Boze. People don’t want to pay to go see what they can get on TV, at home, for free.

Q: Whereas your live appearances are special events.

A:
Very
special! I really work and slave to make them special. But it’s worth it, because people appreciate it.

Q: What about TV interviews?

A: I have done them, and I’ll continue to. My fans are always writing in,
begging
me to be on TV. “
Let
Barbara Walters interview you,” they say. But if I do something at home, in one of my own wonderful houses, it has to be on
my
terms. And my questions. I wouldn’t want to be sat down and asked a lot of silly questions by a silly woman.

Q: You don’t like Barbara Walters?

A:
Boze!
You must
not
put words in my mouth like that. I think she’s darling. But I’m not about to let down my fans and do a quickie TV segment. When I appear, it has to be a special event.

Q: So TV’s not really your medium? Even though you had such a popular series in the 1950s?

A: You
know
about that? How
wonderful!
My younger fans often know more about those years than I do—they
study
it.

Q: I’ve
heard
of your show, of course.

A: Thank you! But there
is
one nice thing about a television interview. Unlike in the newspapers and the magazines, they can’t misquote you or take it out of context. They
can
with editing, but if you go on
The Tonight Show
or something and are there for one or two segments answering silly questions, then at least the public gets your own answers, and the intonations and gestures and everything. In the
press
, my
lord
, they can make you sound like somebody
completely
else. A
stranger
.

Q: (“Stranger than who?” I almost ask.) Since I’m lucky enough to have you on the phone, I wanted to ask about your loyal older fans who—

A:
Boze
, my fans are
all
ages. That’s the wonderful thing. It’s
all
ages, and all
people
.

Q: Oh. What do you do when you’re not working?

A: Now, Boze, are you trying to do an interview with me on the sly? (Chuckles.)

Q: Everyone’s interested in the real Liberace.

A: Thank you. That’s very sweet.

Q: If you want to reconsider, I can have sample copies of the magazine sent to you. You have many fans in Japan, as you may know.

A: Oh, I
know
. But I don’t know....

Q: Or we could wait a few months, if you like.

A: You understand, I’m trying to be
very
selective about what I do. I’m at a place in my life where I have to really,
you
know, get a
kick
out of what I do.

Q: Well, I appreciate your calling.

A:
My
pleasure. A rejection letter’s just
so
impersonal! And since you’re a nice young man who’s nice enough to still be interested and pursue it, I thought I’d call up Boze and explain to him how pleased I am, and sorry I can’t do it—at this time. (Pause.) It is nicer than a rejection letter, isn’t it?

Q: Far nicer. Thank you.

A: Don’t mention it. It’s just a little something.

Q: Well....

A: I guess I’d better let us
both
off the hook. But
do
keep in touch, won’t you, Boze?

Q: I will.

A: The third time might be the charm! (Laughs.) Well, be a good boy....

Q: I’ll try, Lee.

A: (Snickers.) Just don’t try too
hard
. Good-bye!

* * *

Liberace was a gay autofact. He styled, re-fashioned, and molded himself into a one-of-a-kind celebrity. He was the biggest star to ride a gay stereotype to the top. Yet he slavishly sought to please the masses and periodically deny his innate nature. Despite his
outré
dress and percolating-molasses voice, Liberace defied the media to tag him. Even accurately.

In his first decade of stardom, London’s
Daily Mirror
had labeled him “the pinnacle of masculine, feminine, and neuter—everything that he, she, or it could ever want.” Though this was name-calling of the most subtle type, Liberace sued.

Said Quentin Crisp—who penned a foreword to
Conversations With My Elders
—”Personally, I would regard these words [in the paper] as a compliment.” Liberace informed the court that in America, if anyone was described as “it,” he was thought to be homosexual. Incredibly, he won his suit and over $22,000. He won not by providing a shred of evidence refuting the admittedly homophobic paper’s implication, but via the court’s indignation that anyone should be publicly branded non-heterosexual. (After he died, the
Daily Mirror
asked Liberace’s estate for its money back.)